


Chicken

by HandsomeManExpress (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gay Chicken, M/M, Teasing, miscalculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/HandsomeManExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, you can <em>try</em> to use Bo's unshakeable naivete to freak him out, but he's <em>so</em> unshakeably naive that it doesn't actually work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken

Bo is fun to mess with. Dean should probably feel like a bad person for thinking so, but then he's pretty sure that he's been on the VIP list for Hell since he was twelve, so he might as well run with it. Besides, anyone who can listen to Bo talk and _not_ want to do something to fuck with him is _unnatural._

Normally it's just the standard shit. Teasing, mostly. Dean's not _mean,_ not really, and anyway Bo takes _everything_ in stride. Plus he'll believe pretty much _anything_ you tell him, so sometimes when they're driving somewhere together Dean will spend an hour going on about the time he got abducted by aliens, or how Ben Franklin invented bacon, or some other ridiculous shit like that. Once they went on a snipe hunt, that was kinda fun, mostly an excuse for Dean to hang out in the woods with some beers and a pack of cigarettes while Bo entertained himself bird-watching.

And he's the only person who actually _believes_ Dean about _all the goddamn vampires._

Right now, though, Bo's being especially perky, and Dean's a little drunk and feeling mean. So he decides to try something _special._ Actually freak the guy _out_ a little bit.

“The game's called chicken.”

Bo blinks, scratches his head. “Isn't that something people do with cars? Dean, that's _dangerous._ ”

“That's a different kinda chicken, you dope, you think I'm suicidal or something?”

“You _did_ try to start a fight with those bikers.”

“I still say I coulda taken 'em if you'd let me stay.”

“Dean, they had knives.”

Dean takes a swig of his beer, scowls when he realizes that it's empty, and reaches for a fresh bottle. “Not the point.” He pops the new bottle open on the edge of the table. “The _point_ is, this game.”

“Chicken.”

“What'd you fucking—oh. Yeah. Chicken. Teaching you how to play chicken.”

Bo nods encouragingly.

Dean explains the game.

When he's done explaining it, Bo says, eyebrows wrinkled, “That's not a real game, that's too easy. _Everyone_ would win. It's not a real game if _everyone_ wins.”

“You'd be surprised.” Dean chugs the rest of his beer. “So you in? I bet you can't handle it.”

“Ok,” Bo says earnestly. “But I'm going to win, you know. I _always_ win. I win _everything._ ”

Dean snorts. “Says you.”

They pull their chairs around and sit down facing each other, knees almost touching.

There's a long pause, and then Bo says, brightly, “So how do we start? Should I count to three?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever makes you happy, man, just play the damn game.”

“One.”

Dean settles himself comfortably, smirking.

“Two.”

Once Bo catches on he's going to _flip,_ right?

“Three.”

And the game of gay chicken begins.

Dean starts with the classic, starts by putting his hands on Bo's knees, because you'd be surprised by how many guys lose it right there. Bo doesn't seem phased, though. Honestly, his expression hasn't changed at all—he's still smiling brightly, even as he starts slowly leaning in. The fact that his eyes are still wide open honestly makes it a little creepy.

He's also touching Dean's wrists. _Advanced technique._

Closer.

And closer.

And closer.

When their faces are barely an inch apart, Dean says, “So are you chicken or what?”

Bo's hands slide up his arms. Wait, scratch that, Bo is _climbing onto his lap,_ Bo is apparently willing to take this game to a _whole new level._ Dean's almost tempted to chicken out himself, but he's a little too drunk to react quickly and anyway he kind of wants to see if the other guy's actually willing to _do it._

He doesn't even have time to finish the thought before Bo has _definitely_ won the game of gay chicken, because he's _going_ for the kiss.

 _Shit,_ Dean thinks as he closes his eyes, _you wouldn't think a total virgin like Bo would be such a good kisser._

By the time it's gone on long enough to count as at least two kisses Dean is starting to worry vaguely that Bo's going to notice his hard-on.

At which point Bo pulls back and beams at him. “I win! I _told_ you that game was too easy.”

Dean says, breathless, “Yeah, that's fair. That's fair. You know, I didn't think you could do it.”

“Don't be silly. All you have to do is—”

“Don't fucking say it.”

“--bo-lieve.” Bo gives him a thumbs-up.

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.” Bo is _still_ sitting on his lap. “Nobody hates me.”

Dean looks down at where his hands are still resting on Bo's waist, shrugs, and says, “I guess I don't hate you _too_ much.” He thinks about it. “So obviously this means I should teach you the actually _difficult_ version.”


End file.
